Order of Autumn
It’s been a dry summer,
and autumn’s lawn dies
to be reborn. The machine
trims the grass for robins
homing for worms
left behind from the rotor.
Do you have any equipment?
Something that enhances your growth
journey, brings you into history, just as
a car pulls up
—flat. And a couple from Illinois,
white-shirted, yellow-dressed,
white-bearded, phone-worried,
cannot change their tire. Ask Lenny
to swing by like a lame groundhog
to solve the puzzle of our own
underbellies. Being fixed, they’ll
drive on to Interlochen or to an old bridge
—somewhere—following leaf-rusted
gears turning the order of autumn.